XLI
’Tis not our aim to tell of voyage long,
Of storms and struggles on the wintry seas,
Of harbourage and waiting in its course,
Mid sheltered inlets upon Ireland’s shores,
Though full of hardship, yet it would not please,
And we must draw to close our lengthy song.
But I have seen full many a ship depart,
Receding into dimness gray and cold,
Then slip away, lost in a mighty void;—
And in my musings I have tugged and toyed
With memories of friends, or what they told,
In words that strayed from an unguarded heart.
For “wise words” are, sometimes, but foolish mumbling,
And critic’s arrogance a dark conceit,
While silence often has the truest depth;
But when the child, which in thy bosom slept,
Awakes to speak, a morning light doth greet
The restless trav’ler in his painful stumbling.
For there are seas, and many a distant shore,
And life is but a journey and a fight,
Amid the mighty elements at war;—
But by-and-by the pilgrimage is o’er,
And when the peaceful harbor is in sight,
Love’s word alone can ope the Palace-door.
XLII
Upon an April morn the ship emerged
From fitful seas into the placid pool
Of Limerick. The day was clear and calm,
And nature drew the breath of spring, its balm
Was tempering the breezes, somewhat cool,
From western realms, where ocean-billows surged.
The woods and lanes stood draped in flimsy veil,
Of hues most delicate; a purple shade
Uniting with a tender touch of green,
While here and there a golden glint was seen
Of butter-cups upon the sloping glade,
Or round the ponds, where fleecy clouds did sail.
The skylark, lavishing its melody
Upon the freedom of the airy height,
Did carol from the lofty blue so long,
That not of earth but heaven seemed its song,
An Ariel amid the dazzling light,
Who thrilled the heart of man with ecstasy.
Sordino harkened to this happy flood
Of music, and he saw his servant boy
Gaze upward, like the holy men that day,
When Christ ascended, for it did allay
His sorrows, and like theirs, restore his joy,
Since skylark song is in the English blood.